La Bella e La Bestia
by I'm Iller
Summary: Leonardo is finally captured and forced to work for the Borgia; however, he soon finds that, beneath the Master Templar's cherubic armor, there is some charm.
1. The Kidnapping

"I hope," said Cesare down the blade of the knife pointed at the artist's cheek, "you would be smart enough not to doubt my malice, Leonardo." He moved the knife slowly lower, to the other's jaw and neck until the edge of it rested just under the man's chin. When he spoke, he was leaned in close enough to be able to whisper in the other's ear. "So have you changed your mind about joining the Borgia as an engineer?"

By reflex, Leonardo lifted his head, almost as if accommodating the weapon. He swallowed slowly, but having Cesare so physically close gave Leonardo an idea—and the upper hand, if only for a moment.

"Well, _Signore_," began Leonardo, "the thing is…" A split second passed, and Leonardo suddenly brought his knee up into Cesare's groin before shoving roughly and putting some stumbled distance between the two of them. "I don't work for dogs," Leonardo said over his shoulder as he began to run, "let alone Borgia."

If Cesare wasn't so busy stumbling backward, he would probably be curled in the fetal position. The growl he let out was a mixture between a yell of pure anger and frustration and a scream of agony. "You… little…" He clenched the knife viciously, body bent as if that would somehow alleviate the burning, pulsing pain shooting up from his kicked nether regions. The searing pain made him forget about calling guards—for now. Unsteadily and slow at first, he took off after the fleeing polymath. "When I catch you... I will make you regret ever being born!"

Picking up his pace, the artist thought as quickly as he could: where would he go? Was there anywhere he could easily hide? He wasn't going to fight Cesare, with fists or otherwise (not only was he comically awful with a sword, but he also hated violence). He turned back temporarily to check the distance between them, to also shout back at the Borgia: "The trick there, _Messere_, is to actually catch me first!"

If there was a scale that could measure how angry Cesare was, it would be exploding into a thousand pieces. It was one thing to kick the Master Templar right in the Borgia goods, but it was an entirely _other_ thing to also flee and mock him. "I swear by the grace of God, I will make you suffer for your insolence!" And it takes some time, a lot of time actually, but soon he could sprint again without tears wanting to pour from his eyes.

Cesare's thighs and groin still burned from the crush of the kick, but it was his pride which burned more, burned like the Roman sun. Leonardo, in the distance, was getting closer and closer. "If you don't stop, little inventor," Cesare yelled, "I will make you hurt ten times as worse when I catch you! And then I shall pay your assassin friend a visit, like I did at his villa!"

Thankfully, Leonardo shot for the busiest part of the city and, soon, the amount of people and buildings started to become denser. Taking a few turns, Leonardo tried to find somewhere he could duck into and hide, Cesare's words burning through his head. He knew, luckily, that Ezio wouldn't be so easy to find plus even harder to kill; for now, he put Ezio's safety to the back of his mind.

"Come on, come on," Leonardo whispered to himself. "There has to be somewhere…" Ducking hastily between two stalls into an alley, he believed he was safe for the moment. He leaned down on his knees to try and catch his breath, a stitch ripping through his side.

Even amidst the crowd, Cesare was obviously irritable by the disappearance of his victim. His dark eyes quickly scanned every face, every body, every nook and cranny he could think to glance at in hopes he could spot a familiar hat, tunic, _anything_. He firmly pushed people out of his way as he brushed through the crowded street. That man couldn't have gone too far, Cesare was right behind him!

Suddenly, Cesare remembered that he didn't have to go about this on his own. Narrowing his eyes, he rallied his guards with the twirl of his fist in the air and a sharp whistle. He signaled some to go in one direction and some to go in another direction while he followed two others on their search. He _would_ find Leonardo, if it was the last thing he did. The man couldn't hide forever.

After finally managing to catch his breath (for what seemed to be the longest two minutes of his life), Leonardo straightened up, wiping his brow on the back of his hand. Fortunately, the market there was unusually busy, but _unfortunately_, when he peeked out from between the market stalls, he saw the sun reflect off of something—off of armor.

"_Merda_…" There hadn't been any guards when he'd been running, so why were there so many now? Scurrying to the end of the alleyway, vainly hoping it led off one way or the other, Leonardo's heart fell when he found a dead end. Turning around, he looked to see if he could somehow climb onto the roof, only to bump into a pair of armored men.

Of course, the guards immediately hassled the poor artist into custody. They were dragging him back to the opening of the alley when a smirking Cesare arrived. Boy, did he look as smug as ever, and he wasn't even the one who found Leonardo.

"Well, well," he said, uncrossing his arms. "Try as you might to run and hide, you won't get very far here in Rome."

Stepping closer, he reached out to tangle his fingers into the artist's hair and yank the sandy-colored head back. He leaned in close, narrowed his eyes. "If you kick me there again, I will not hesitate to cut your heels so you won't be able to run any longer."

Releasing Leonardo's hair, he straightened himself back up. "Bind his arms," he told the guards as he turned, "and bring him back to the _castello_." There, he would have to seriously restrain himself from not beating everything out of the other man. Perhaps the ride there would cool him off.

Being hauled out into the sunlight, Leonardo knew he was in real trouble. He'd lost his beret back in the alley after he'd struggled with the guards, so his eyes had no protection from the relentless Roman heat. Of course, he didn't need to be able to see to know how smug and triumphant Cesare must have looked. Upon hearing the order for them to return to the Borgia household, Leonardo closes his eyes for a moment, sending his silent apologies and prayers to the Eagle of Italy. This was the last thing Ezio needed, to be running around and risking his safety and his mission to get him out of trouble.

As far as his situation was concerned, Leonardo wasn't sure he even wanted to imagine what he'd be put through—Cesare Borgia was renowned for his ruthlessness, and Leonardo knew that, at the end of it, losing would come down to which one of them would break first. Of course, mental armor was generally stronger than the metal plates that protected the guards, but, then again, this was only a theory.

With his nerves shot and temper (and his _pride_) still boiling, the ride to the _castello_ was short-mainly because he was the one making the rush.

Thankfully (perhaps) for Leonardo, he commanded the guards to take the artist elsewhere for captivity when they arrived at the destination—more thankfully, a barred and guarded room rather than a dank dungeon cell. For now, other business called his attention, and he was sore and tired of the heavy pull of the cherubic armor not only on his body but his mind.

Needless to say, despite his actions against the Templar leader, Leonardo was a little more than surprised when he was taken to a room rather than a dungeon. Not that he was complaining, though he would have liked for his hands to be untied. That made him smile, if only because of the sheer futility of such a hope.

Once he was left to his thoughts, Leonardo got up and went to the window. The room was comfortable and beautifully furnished, yes, but the view of Rome was far more appealing to the inventor's eye.

And while Leonardo was left in peace for a good amount of time, the doors were soon being thrown open to allow Cesare to pass through. As they closed, Cesare folded his arms across his normally attired chest in the light of the sunset coming through a window.

Leonardo, startled out of his thoughts and daydreams by the opening of the door, looked up at the additional person in the room. Admittedly, he'd never seen Cesare in anything other than armor.

"Are you ready to join us, or are you still planning to be stubborn?" Cesare asked.

"In this case, unfortunately for you," Leonardo responded coolly, "I'm planning on the latter…"


	2. You Can Lead a Horse to Water

The nitch in Cesare's brow showed determination and a little bit of frustration. "I didn't expect any less," he said, though that didn't mean he hadn't been hoping Leonardo would cave and relent. Or had he?

It was doubtful Cesare would have gotten this far if he didn't have some kind of opposition, mainly from Italy's eagle. The ruthless conqueror in him immensely enjoyed being able to yank any kind of resilient force off the ladder of leadership. Leonardo's persistence in denying him, then, became a strategic game at winning.

"You are relying on the one hope that you know I won't kill you, aren't you?" Cesare asked, fingers reaching toward his lower back to remove the small knife there from his belt. Leonardo's soft, sort-of-smile melted away into neutrality when he saw the glint of the blade. "You think that," continued Cesare, "perhaps, like a fairytale, Ezio Auditore will swoop in to save you." It wasn't a question.

And then Cesare was advancing on the artist with knife in hand and a dark gleam in his eye.

"Ezio cannot break the walls of my _castello_, I'm afraid," Cesare was saying. When he got closer: "I doubt he'll even know you're gone."

Even as Cesare came for him, Leonardo knew he had already promised himself the last thing he'd do would be to submit to Cesare's order. And as for games of strategy, well, the freckled, twenty-something genius wasn't given such a title for nothing.

When he got right beside the artist, Cesare whispered, "I doubt he'll care."

It was as if, although Leonardo hoped it wasn't true, he knew that his captor was correct. Ezio wouldn't hear about his taking for weeks, if not longer. And by then, who knew if Leonardo would even still be alive?

Leonardo didn't move or back away, even when Cesare was standing right in front of him. Cesare raised the knife, but when he grabbed Leonardo by the upper arm, the blade swiftly lodged itself under the binds on the man's wrists. Leonardo wrenched his eyes shut, thinking that if Cesare was going to stab him, he'd rather not see it happen.

And with an upward pull, Cesare split the binds in half.

When no pain followed in the next few seconds and Leonardo's hands separated from their bindings, he dared to open his eyes again. He looked up at Cesare in curiosity and surprise. "What are—You… You freed me?"

Switching the knife between his hands, Cesare said, "You can't make me inventions of war without the use of your arms." And then he pointed the tip of the knife at Leonardo's neck again, and the artist looked between the Master Templar and the blade. "But don't take my hospitality for granted, da Vinci," Cesare warned. "I will punish you if you try anything sly."

For now, Cesare turned back to the room with the blade idly flipping through his hands. "Otherwise, this room is yours." Cesare motioned to it with the knife. "There is a bathroom attached to it. Here, a desk to write with. Food will be brought to you, of course... Unless you don't cooperate. I have no qualms with starving you a little." Leonardo frowned.

After a few seconds, Cesare continued: "I'm granting you the use of my hired workers—they know who you are. Along with that, you get a limitless supply of goods that ensure the completion of these war devices." Cesare glanced back over his shoulder slowly.

"You do know I plan to take Rome for myself, correct?" A small, prideful smile curled Cesare's lips upward. "To do so, I need your help. I need something to help me wipe out large numbers of people while also protecting my own." Easily, he turned to face Leonardo again. "For now, you will not leave these premises... but you may wonder the _castello._ If you are good, I will allow you to venture out into Rome." A pause. Cesare's eyes were dark.

Was Cesare serious? Leonado thought. It was one thing to lie to get what was wanted, but war? Nearly the entirety of Leonardo's gut told him that Cesare couldn't have been further from jest. Silently, the artist listened to Cesare talk about the room, looking from the bed to the desk and, finally, the door. It was all more tempting than Leonardo cared to admit. Limitless materials? Workers to assist him? Had this been any other situation, he would have agreed without a second's hesitation.

"Are you still going to be stubborn?"

This situation called for Leonardo to take the higher, more risky ground. "I will have no part in this war of yours, and I'll certainly not allow countless to die just so that my neck will be spared." He often spent days at a time in his studio back in Florence. Being imprisoned in a warm, spacious room wasn't so bad of an idea. It was what Cesare planned to do to Rome that had Leonardo's stomach in knots.

Clenching his hand around the knife, it took all Cesare had not to explode in irritated rage. The last thing he could do was kill Leonardo, but it was so _infuriating_ to have the man shoot down everything he offered. All of this, always brushed to the side! For what? Morality? Doing the "right thing"?

Gritting his teeth, Cesare pointed the blade threateningly across the room at the artist, and Leonardo grimaced. "You will _not_ deny me." Cesare's voice was shaking with anger. "I shall not _ask_ you any longer; I am commanding you to do as I say. I did not work this hard to get where I am for nothing." If he didn't know any better, Cesare would have gladly told Leonardo what he had done to be best, to have his father's gratitude, to have everyone else's gratitude. Lied. Cheated. Falsified information. Swindled. Killed his own brother.

"You can lead a horse to water, _Signore_…" Leonardo left it at that, his tone calm but serious.

Exhaling through his teeth, Cesare lowered the knife. "Guards!" He turned as two of them hurriedly entered, hurriedly came over to him. Placing a hand on one's arm, he leaned in to whisper something. After a moment, they both dispersed the way they had entered, door closing behind them.

"I don't have time for your games, Leonardo," Cesare said, pushing the flat sides of his fingers against his eyes, up over the tired sockets, then along the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps if you hear word that your Assassin friend is harmed, you will change your mind."

Even with the threat against Ezio's safety, the absent-minded artist had only the greatest faith in his friend's skills as an Assassin. Ezio wouldn't be caught, and he wouldn't come to harm. Leonardo knew it, he had to know it.

"What makes you think I would believe you," Leonardo asked, "if you did tell me that Ezio was dead?" He frowned and sat in the window seat, as if to confirm his stubbornness. "I will never make anything for you or your cause," he added.

Cesare didn't know whether he wanted to strangle the other man, or slice him down the middle. Unfortunately, Cesare needed Leonardo and, thus, had to control his temper. The only thing he could do to alleviate the boiling rage inside of him was to turn and slap something off a nearby table. A nice, expensive vase. It crashed against the floor, making Leonardo flinch back, and, for a moment, Leonardo feared that he'd pushed Cesare's temper a step too far. The doors opened quickly, but Cesare held up a hand while heaving.

After the doors closed yet again, Cesare cut his sweltering, dark eyes back at the artist. "You leave me no choice then," he hissed. "My guards are on their way to your workshop." Leonardo's body froze in hesitation. "I hope you don't have anything hidden away in there that is priceless. They are bringing every one of your manuscripts back here to the _castello_. If you don't use them to your advantage, if you do not join me... I will reveal in ripping them apart and burning them in a fire out in the courtyard." Cesare pointed toward the window in which Leonardo sat. "Right out there. I will make you watch."

Fortunately, Leonardo knew every design and blue print down to the last annotation, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been, not that _Cesare_ knew that, of course. Plus, Leonardo didn't particularly want his workshop ransacked. Getting to his feet, Leonardo gave a defiant shrug. "All right, fine. Destroy what you want, but if you burn my designs, you burn any chance of my cooperation along with them."

The little bit of satisfaction that crept into Cesare was enough to douse the flame of anger for now. "Well," he said with a clenched jaw, "you better start cooperating if you don't want them burned to less than ash."

Slowly, Cesare slid the knife in his hand back into the scabbard at his back. His feet carried him once more toward the artist. Leonardo backed away slowly, expression crumpling warily. Getting in people's faces was a tactic of being more dominant; Cesare used it wisely. "You will build what I ask of you," Cesare said, grabbing the other man's face, and Leonardo didn't turn away, "or you will pay the price. Death would be a release from what I am capable and willing to do to you. I am being nice. You don't want to see me angry." Angrier than what he was when he slung the vase to the floor.

And with that, Cesare turned to stalk for the door. "Guards," he was barking, "send a servant to clean this up." At the doorway, he stopped and looked back. "If you try anything, I will have the guards skin you alive." Then Cesare was gone.

Once he was left alone, Leonardo soon lost himself in daydreams and in thought. There wasn't much point in trying to plan his escape—he was a master of art, not of espionage. The hours in the room, alone, dragged on, one by one. Unfortunately for Leonardo, chronic boredom set in quickly, eating away at his idle mind. Eventually, Leonardo attempted to pass the time by napping, and it was late into the night when he suddenly awoke.


	3. Let's Play a Game

Cesare spent the majority of his time trying to press off the frustration that was plaguing him, plaguing his mind about _everything_, not just the stubborn inventor tucked away in the corner of the _castello_. He couldn't stand still long enough to read letters or maps, dinner tasted like plaster, everyone got on his nerves asking countless questions, and not even the cold water splashed on his face dulled the ache behind his eyes.

Outside in the courtyard, even so early in the morning, he sought refuge in the quiet peace of cooler Roman air. Dressed merely in a flowing, white undershirt and trousers, he looked a lot younger and a lot more vulnerable than he did when he was encased in Papal armor and high-necked frills. He was a commoner now, as he was before being a soldier, a Cardinal, long before the robes of God.

On the other hand, Leonardo sighed heavily to himself when his attempt at sleep was in vain. His brain was alert and buzzing with ideas, his hands restless and antsy. It was as if he was having a kind of creative withdrawal, something only Leonardo would be familiar with. Swinging his legs off the bed, Leonardo unhooked his red cape and laid it absently across the desk's chair. He stretched, but soon noticed a flash of light outside. Leonardo frowned to himself and went to the window in curiosity.

The wine probably wasn't the best idea, seeing as how he was practicing waving a sword around, but Cesare couldn't be bothered with water. Water didn't alleviate anything. The wine relaxed him and, so far, he had only drunk enough to flush his cheeks.

Each jab of the blade was a strict confirmation of every problem Cesare was facing, and Leonardo recognized the glint of the sword even from the window; however, Leonardo didn't recognize the sword's wielder at first. It was true enough that Cesare looked different in his 'free hours.' Cesare looked almost relaxed, although Leonardo knew relaxation couldn't have been further from the truth. Leonardo knew his refusal to cooperate couldn't have helped any.

Each slice and the grunt following, the soft twist of leather boots, was as if Cesare were fighting back metaphorical adversaries which kept him from the seat of Italy's throne. And now that Leonardo had something to entertain himself with, the polymath took a seat more comfortably in the window sill, one knee raised to accommodate a leaning arm. Outside, Cesare stopped and then paced around in a tight circle while sweat rolled down between his shoulders, down his neck. He turned sharply, eyes dark, as if he were a fencer, as if he were a _torero_ and Italy's blockade was a bull. Cesare raised the sword and pointed it, pointed at nothing in particular, his expression saying, _I will conquer you._

Jumping back into a skid, Cesare brandished the sword up as if parrying the downward blow of an attacker. Sweeping it around, he sliced and then jabbed forward, but froze in that bent-knee position to realize he was now more tired than he had been before he started. Slowly straightening, Cesare jerked the sword idly down by his legs and made his way over to the elaborate center-piece fountain of the courtyard.

Yawning, Leonardo watched the display of sword practice before Cesare suddenly seemed to give up. Rubbing a hand over his tired blue eyes, Leonardo thought that if his entertainment for the evening had given up, he may as well do the same. It wasn't like he was especially sleepy, only bored. Leonardo lacked current mental stimulation and the more he ignored it, the antsier he became.

At the fountain, Cesare reclined the blade against the edge of the stone and lifted, instead, the uncorked bottle of wine waiting for him. Being parched, he downed a good portion of it in one go despite how it would have the opposite effect on him regarding thirst. Cesare didn't much care, obviously.

Setting the bottle back down, he braced his palms against the edge of the fountain and lowered himself to his knees. With hands cupped, Cesare scooped up some of the water and then splashed it across his face. Repeating the action, he covered his head and his neck with cool water, letting it trickle down him and soak his clothes. Much better against the humid air of Rome.

He put his palms back on the stone, went to lift himself up once more, but the water made his grip slick, and he unsteadily toppled back down into the fountain up to his elbows. The sudden slip had startled him, but embarrassment soon burned through his cheeks, and when he scrambled back up from the water, he slapped it angrily.

As Leonardo stood up to cast a final glance outside, he couldn't help but laugh when he caught sight of Cesare suddenly slipping into the fountain. So, even Templar leaders have their clumsy moments? Still smiling to himself, Leonardo went about lighting a candle here and there. At least, he thought, he'd been locked in a room with plenty of books. It would make up for the stop in his sword wielder's practice.

Cesare wondered what God in Heaven was tormenting him, and why? He sat back on his calves and heels by the fountain then pushed himself up so he could sit on the edge of it with his arms thrown across his thighs. Cesare buried his face in his hands irritably while Leonardo was exploring the bookshelves.

Silently, Cesare wondered what time it was. It felt like the sun would be shooting up above the _castello_ any second, but the fatigued and weighted air settling in his mind made his sense of time off. He raised his head and, after gazing solemnly at the sky, he stood up for the sword and bottle of wine.

When Cesare turned around, however, a solitary flicker at the top of the building caught his attention. He paused with sword in hand, narrowing his dark eyes and mentally counting each room, the spatial layout pulling through his mind. Leonardo. That blasted artist was still up. Cesare watched himself twirl the blade in his hand.

Some time later, booted feet echoed down the hall, signaling Cesare's return to the artist's room, and, at first, Leonardo wasn't sure whether or not there were actual footsteps or if he really was tired enough to be hearing things. The doors were pushed open for Cesare by armored guards, and he stepped in the room like he owned the place, clutching that same bottle of wine and the sword. Leonardo had jumped, startled, and he hurriedly got up from the desk.

"You cannot make me blueprints if you aren't sleeping," he said as the doors closed. He didn't look angry, and his voice twinged on the edge of fake irritation, fake force. He looked curious, and when he narrowed his eyes at the room, it was tired confusion and not annoyance. Evidently, Leonardo wasn't the only one sleep deprived. When Cesare spoke, Leonardo noticed how fatigued the man really looked as well as sounded.

"I think you'll find that it'd be even harder for me to make them if I was asleep, _Signore_," Leonardo said quietly. Glancing at the nearly-empty bottle of wine in Cesare's hand, Leonardo's dark, sapphire eyes soon flicked back to the bottle's holder. "Did you wear yourself out, or did the fountain prove too much of a challenge?"

That _snark_. Cesare didn't know if he admired it, or wanted to slap the man for it. Leonardo could always ripple his skin with agitation, somehow, by popping off a retort to whatever he said. It was challenging, even though Leonardo had only meant his snark in a playful way as he did with most things.

Cesare's eyes darkened. The wine-induced flush to his cheeks grew a bit redder, but the only thing that moved was his hand tightening around the hilt of the sword. "You saw?" he asked lowly.

Immediately, Leonado held his hands up with a mischievous smirk spreading across his face. "Don't worry, I won't tell a soul what I saw."

Cesare thought, at first, that maybe he should cut the artist down for spying his blunder, but no... After an exhale, Cesare propped the sword against the wall and turned back with the bottle. "Do you want some?" He held the wine out, though he didn't move toward the artist at all. "Perhaps it will wipe what you saw at the fountain out of your memory," he said pointedly.

As Leonardo lowered his hands back to his sides, he raised a brow in curiosity. He hadn't had any food or drink delivered to his room that day, probably as payback for his resistance to join the Borgia side. As a result, the offered wine looked more than a little appealing, but, he was still wary. "...Yes, I would." And he approached Cesare to take the bottle from the Templar at arm's length. "_Grazie_."

Once the artist took the bottle from him, Cesare brushed by and seated himself at the desk near the window. There, he promptly buried his face back in his hands, elbows rested on the desk's surface. Meanwhile, the wine became a sweet relief to Leonardo, although it wasn't exactly thirst quenching. It was better than nothing. The wine tasted expensive and smooth, and Leonardo had to stop himself from finishing the bottle. He let the taste wallow in the back of his throat as he stepped towards his desk and picked up the book he had been reading before.

After Leonardo sat down in the window with the book, a long silence passed between them in the room, but neither appeared to be bothered by it. Actually, Cesare seemed to welcome the quiet peace that Leonardo offered, even if unintentional. As the minutes ticked by, Leonardo glanced up, assuming Cesare had just fallen asleep. With a gentle smile, Leonardo closed the book softly, and went to blow out the candle that burned silently next to where the other man was sitting.

Suddenly, Cesare said, not lifting his head, "Your designs. I have seen them." And when the seemingly sleeping form spoke up out of the silence, Leonardo suffered a small heart attack.

Cesare paused, raising his head up enough to cut his eyes over his fingers at the artist. "Well, I have heard of them, seen a few. You did the weapon the assassin has, yes? The _pistola_. Cannons. Also a flying machine, if rumors prove true?" Slowly, Cesare fingers twined themselves together and he propped his chin on them as Leonardo sat against the nearby wall.

So, Leonardo's designs had been 'leaked'? Did that mean his workshop was in pieces now? Leonardo hoped that wasn't true, but then again, the Borgia weren't known all for being 'all bark and no bite.'

"You draw all of this from your head?" Cesare asked curiously, intrigued by the genius of Leonardo's mind, the one everyone else marveled over. "All of these designs, they come from inside of you?"

"The flying machine is greatly flawed," Leonardo responded, "but it has been shown to work. And yes, my designs are unique to me. All from in here." With a smile, he tapped his temple lightly.

"Why?" And Cesare didn't even wonder about whether or not the artist had ever been asked that question. Maybe how, or when, or no words at all other than brown-nosing remarks, or stunned compliments. "Why do you make these things, design them?" Personally, Cesare never had a full mind, in that sense, a mind that was ready to explode because there were so many ideas twirling about inside of it. He had no clue.

The artist had to admit he was surprised at the question, though, he didn't need to think long about his reply. "It is like... If I do not create and design things, I come to a halt. I have a constant flow of _things_ entering my brain, ideas and the like, so if I do not make at least some of them, they either get lost in my head, or I forget about them, or they simply build up and drive me mad!"

Some time passed, and Cesare was leaned back, sideways in the chair, arm dangling down the back of it. He was studying Leonardo thoughtfully, but other times he was looking past the man, off into his thoughts. For some strange reason, when Cesare was tired and relaxed on alcohol, he was much easier to talk to, Leonardo thought. Hell, like that, Cesare was easier to be around period. It was almost as if Cesare's armor was a different personality entirely, one that could simply be pulled on and off at its master's will.

"They say you are a genius and not just with the paint brush," Cesare finally said, quietly. A pause, and then he asked, "Do you like puzzles? Games?" A smile curled Cesare's lips up.

When Cesare proposed a game, Leonardo had to admit he was wary if not curious. "_Sí_," Leonardo said, "very much so…"

Cesare rocked forward to straighten correctly in the chair, arms quickly going out to grab some parchment, a quill, and the ink. "I will test you," he said to Leonado. "I will see how good The da Vinci's mind really is." And on the paper, Cesare began to draw. A two-dimensional maze. "See how quickly you can solve this."

Leonardo got to his feet, wandered over beside the chair, and took the quill from his challenger's hand. Looking down at the paper for about some seconds, Leonardo started to mutter to himself, possible solutions running through his mind. Leaning back in the chair, Cesare crossed his arms while the artist got familiar with the maze. At first, Cesare watched Leonardo's face, even if the staring was blatant because of their proximity. He watched the lines in the other man's forehead, the twitch of muscle in the man's jaw while thinking, the fluttering lips of concentration, the blue eyes that seemed to read though the very heart of the paper maze. Something had to be there, an answer that told him how Leonardo had this gift in the first place.

Another few moments passed, and a smooth, black ink line was running the course of the maze, correctly linking A and B. And Cesare was watching the artist's hands when the man began drawing, dragging the quill across the paper. It's as if the line was already there, already on the paper, and Leonardo merely had to trace it. There wasn't an unsteady mark etched once, no squiggle of uncertainty. To say the least, Cesare's mouth was open by the time the black ink bled through the exit of the maze's walls. Leonardo slid the paper back across the table, a devious smile matching the one Cesare so often wore.

When it came to puzzles and games, Leonardo couldn't help but pride himself on his ability to solve.

"I'm impressed," Cesare said after a moment, but he took the quill from the other's hands. "Another," he added, not one for giving up. He wasn't the best at complex puzzles, but he had practice to enhance his battle tactics.

This time, it was a spatial puzzle. A flat, two-dimensional figure that could be folded into three. "If you built this design," Cesare said, "what would its figure look like put together? Draw it."


	4. Blame it on the Alcohol

Having a feeling that these games were going to go on for a while, Leonardo went back to where he was stood earlier and retrieved the bottle of wine. He pulled another chair over to the desk and sat opposite Cesare, taking a quick swig from the bottle before turning his attention to the paper in front of him. Looking over it, Leonardo nearly laughed, and he glanced up at the man before him.

"After this, allow me to challenge you," Leonardo said, and Cesare nodded as if giving the artist permission.

Because of the design's simplicity, Leonardo drew a three dimensional box in less time than it would take to pour a glass of water. Crafting from Cesare's idea, Leonardo moved down the page and drew another maze before handing the dark-featured man the pen.

When Cesare looked at the page, he was again impressed. "You can do this even while drinking?" he asked, reaching for the bottle of wine himself. Now Cesare really _was_ impressed. Holding the neck, he pressed the top to his lips and took a hefty swig before placing it back down. He wiped his mouth with his wrist, and then took the offered quill while glancing at the paper.

A challenge. Cesare liked them.

Briefly, Cesare's eyes searched the pattern while the quill hovered by the paper, and Leonardo watched (in a similar fashion that he had been watched) Cesare attempt to solve the maze. Admittedly, Cesare cheated when it came to the puzzle, but then again didn't cheat-he began, instead, at the exit of the maze and worked his way backward. Over, up, around. The quill scratched through the maze quickly, and he had no erratic errors as he passed the line out through the entrance.

"Good," Cesare said, "but you can do better, I know."

Brushing the feather of the quill under his chin momentarily in thought, Cesare said, "A riddle this time for you, and then you may test me again." Leonardo's eyes brightened with excitement—he _loved_ riddles, and Cesare began to write:

_I am a wonderful help to women__  
><em>_The hope of something good to come__  
><em>_I harm only my slayer__  
><em>_I grow very tall, erect in a bed__  
><em>_I am shaggy down below__  
><em>_The lovely girl grabs my body, rubs my red skin__  
><em>_Holds me hard, claims my head.__  
><em>_That girl will feel our meeting!__  
><em>_I bring tears to her eyes!_

Leonardo impatiently waited for the Captain General to be finished, and finally, Cesare turned to look at the artist, a smirk curling his lips. Cesare's eyes danced with mirth in the candle's light. "What am I?"

Confused by the expression on Cesare's face, Leonardo skimmed his eyes quickly over the words scrawled on the parchment. When Leonardo finished, however, there was no controlling how pink his face became, a dust of color over his freckled cheeks. Leonardo's eyes widened and his smile became awkward. "U-Um…" Leonardo said, falling over his words. "Well... Let's see... Ah..."

Leonardo hoped that his embarrassment wasn't too obvious, though it was blatantly obvious to a skillful observer like Cesare. Honestly, Cesare enjoyed every single minute of it, to have the artist flushed and embarrassed over a riddle that wasn't meant to be dirty but was anyway.

Before trying to solve the riddle, Leonardo took a moment to pick up the bottle of wine, and he noticed something: In the dim light, and with the flickering candle flame reflected in those eyes, Cesare looked like some kind of devil. With irises as black as death, pallid skin, and dark hair to match, Leonardo nearly found himself looking for a pair of pointed horns.

After a moment, Leonardo chuckled awkwardly. "I'm really not sure about this one…" he admitted in a low voice. "Of course, it isn't as obvious as… well... A-anyway, I did think for a minute it was… maybe an onion or something, but vegetables aren't exactly what come to mind when one thinks of… Um..." He cleared his throat. "...Then again, I suppose that's the point..." Leonardo took a hasty drink of the wine.

While Cesare would usually be getting a bit irritable about Leonardo guessing all of his 'tests' right, the wine dulled his mood into something more amused, more intrigued. "That _is_ the point," he told the artist. "It is one of my favorites." Since the devilry Leonardo noticed wasn't just in his eyes only. He could be quite the fox if he so wished. "And," he sighed out, "you are correct. It is an onion." He still could not grasp how the other man was this smart.

As Leonardo heard he'd actually been right with the onion answer, he looked pleasantly surprised and soon his smile returned. "I can see why… It's a rather clever play on words."

When Leonardo didn't put the wine down quickly from the last swig, Cesare reached out to cup his fingers around the bottle. Slowly, he lowered it and pulled it from the artist's mouth and hand. "You will not be able to do my tests if you keep drinking." Cesare smiled then, genuine for once, but it was soon eclipsed by the wine bottle he brought to his own lips.

No longer able to hide behind the bottle, Leonardo cleared his throat to try to get the burning in his cheeks to slowly ebb.

"Another," Cesare commanded of Leonardo after a moment when he had set the bottle down again. He leaned back expectantly in the chair.

Leonardo picked the quill up once again and thought for a moment. Finally, a riddle came to mind, as if it had been whisked out of thin air. Leonardo seemed to smile, not only at the activity, but also apparently at a memory. "This is one my father told me when I was younger," he told Cesare. "I'm interested to see how you take it." When Leonardo slid the paper back to his 'opponent,' he moved to light another candle. On the paper, writ in fine cursive was:

_If you are eight feet away from a door and, with each move, you advance half the distance to the door, how many moves will it take you to reach the door?_

By now, the wine had made Cesare's mind feel warm and hazy, like a wool blanket had been tucked around it. He squinted at the puzzle on the parchment and wet his lips with a slow lick.

_Eight feet away... Half the distance..._ Cesare's mind sprung an imaginary chess board within itself, distorted to fit the measurements of the puzzle. Eight blocks for eight feet. The piece on the board hopped half the distance. His brows furrowed. Leonardo, on the other hand, watched in quiet amusement as Cesare mulled over the riddle, his expression creased in inebriated concentration.

And for a long time Cesare sat and pondered in silence. It was almost as if he had been stumped, been up for resigning on the puzzle game because he could not guess. Suddenly, Cesare looked up at the artist, face astonished. "It's a trick," he said, watching the other's face for confirmation. "It's a trick." And then he laughed, a deep and quiet rumble in the back of his throat. "You will never get to the door." He looked back down at the paper. "You will always be half the distance away from it, no matter how many times you move ahead."

"Yes," said Leonardo with the hint of a smile, "correct. Lucky for you, I know many more."

Cesare eyes turned back to the artist. "That was a good trick." His lips curled into a smile as he was quite fond of trickery. "I liked it." Cesare lifted the quill with one hand, using the other to support his dark head. "Want another?"

After another swig from the bottle of wine, Leonardo gave a nod. "Yes, please." It was odd. He was starting to enjoy Cesare's company. Of course, this could be blamed on the bittersweet effects of alcohol, but during 'after hours,' the Templar seemed to come out of character, seemed to act like a decent human being. It was strange, Leonardo thought, but what was even stranger was his growing attraction to Cesare's features. He wrote such things off quickly as artistic aesthetics—he was attracted to many masculine forms, and he was attracted, too, of light and shadow. The line of Cesare's jaw with the shadows writhing on them, the shimmer of light playing in Cesare's dark hair, he wrote all of it off as nothing more than an artist's fancy.

Regardless of being lax and slightly tipsy, Cesare was still rather bent on enacting his will, on getting what he wanted. "_Bene_," he said, poising the quill over the parchment. "But..." His dark eyes slid over to the artist. "If you cannot guess the answer to this riddle, you must make for me a… _pistola_." He heard great things about Leonardo's war machines. Did Leonardo love puzzles enough to take the challenge, to risk that kind of deal? Leaning more into his palm, Cesare reached out to brush the feather-end of the quill under the other man's chin, and Leonardo's eyes widened a tad when the quill brushed by delicately. The mad blush from earlier returned to Leonardo's cheeks to a degree, and he tried not to let himself get distracted, so he waved the feather away, curling it around his finger a little as he does so.

"Or," Cesare continued, "you must make me the blueprints for one. If you guess correctly, though, then you do not have to make it-right now." He would get that pistol one way or another.

As soon as he heard the full conditions following his next challenge, Leonardo hesitated. In this mood, combined with the wine in his blood, he wasn't as cautious as he usually was. With a rare, daring glint in his eyes, Leonardo smirked in the flickering candle light. "Deal," he said, and Cesare grinned.

Turning back to the parchment, Cesare thought for a few minutes, and then began to scribble down a riddle in slanted, elegant letters: _A man accused of high treason is sentenced to death by the court-martial. He is allowed to make a final statement, after which he will be shot if the statement is false or will be hung if the statement is true. The man makes his final statement and is released._ Sliding the paper over to Leonardo, he said, "What could the man have said?"

Leonardo brought his hand back down to the table to turn the paper around. As he read the script, his intoxicated mind slurred through the possible solutions. Several minutes pass and Leonardo's expression deepened in thought. "What is it," he muttered to himself contemplatively, "what is it...? What is the answer-Oh!"

Leonardo looked up at Cesare, the wine serving as liquid confidence. "Just as the _pistola_—He asked to be shot!"

Thankfully for Leonardo, Cesare was too drunk to be angry. If anything, he was only slightly agitated that the man so easily (in a sense) guessed his riddle. There was probably no other riddle or puzzle Cesare could wrack his mind for, not one that would stump this man, this genius. "Lucky," he muttered, dropping the quill on the desk so he could cross his arms.

"Perhaps I under-estimated you," Cesare admitted after a few seconds, leveling the artist with a steady, but dark gaze. "Still, it's hard to know the truth when there are only rumors of Italy's greatest mind. You could have been full of shit, no? I had to test you for myself." Though Cesare's tests may have hardly been tests at all.

Wearing a wide smile of triumph, Leonardo leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms up above his head. Now that his mind had had some exercise, he felt more alert. Though this was countered, of course, by the seemingly endless amounts of wine he had ingested. The compliment however, whether or not it was intentional, still took Leonardo off guard. He held his hands out, fingers splayed and his expression modest. "'Italy's greatest'?" he repeated. "I do not think so... I simply have an over-active imagination. It's a burden at the best of times, I can assure you."

For a few quiet minutes, Cesare watched the artist. Again, he had that look as if he were seeing right through the man, all the way to the other side of the _castello_. Finally, he glanced back over his shoulder. "Guards," he called sternly. When the doors opened, he said, "Bring more wine. And some cheese."

When they are left alone again, Cesare looked as if he might ask something; however, he never moved aside from a twitch in his lips. Soon, though, he said, "All right. Give me another one."

With elbows leaned on the table, Leonardo was silently grateful that he was going to get food soon. It was slightly comical how serious Cesare sounded when he requested the guards to bring them more provisions, but he kept himself from laughing at it as he tried to think of another puzzle to provide Cesare with. Leonardo turned the parchment over and started drawing, his right hand scratching his beard absently as his left busied itself with making this new maze more complex than the first.

With a smirk on his lips, Cesare rounded himself up to his feet while the artist went about doodling another puzzle. "That isn't what all of _Italia_ is saying," he continued conversationally. And it was true. Italy was slowly beginning to buzz with rumors of the great artist, inventor, and many-other-things Leonardo da Vinci. Everyone wanted commissions; unfortunately, Leonardo proved to be the worst at finishing projects. A gift and a curse.

Leonardo glanced up momentarily, his tone playful and his eyes twinkling with equal measure. "Well, if and when I leave the _castello_, please remind me beforehand to thank Italy in its entirety."

Cesare smirked at Leonardo and then paced the floor for a bit. He paused to stretch, but straightened when the doors pushed open, and the guards entered with the requested wine and basket of cheese. Apparently, they had also added bread. He didn't ask for it, but he wasn't going to complain since he was much too floaty from wine to make a big deal out of something so trivial. Leonardo looked back at the half finished maze as Cesare answered the door, his hand seeming to simply follow a pre-exisiting line. After another minute or so, Leonardo slid the paper towards Cesare's side of the desk, waiting to swap it with a piece of bread and cheese.

"Go," Cesare said as he took the items and returned to the desk. "Here." Cesare's voice, as Leonardo had noted earlier, _did_ change when he spoke to the artist as opposed to orders being given to guards. It was now much less coarse. Cesare put the basket down, and then wiggled the cork from the bottle with ease. His eyes, though, were on the newly drawn maze. He didn't exactly like the complicated look of it. Taking a swig from the bottle, Cesare placed it down on the desk in reach before picking up a slice of the cheese. Leonardo, in turn, took some food of his own.

"Try this one," Cesare suddenly commanded, offering a slice of the same cheese to Leonardo while picking the quill up with his other hand. Maze... maze... This one was difficult.

"Hopefully that one will offer you more of a challenge than the last one," Leonardo said as Cesare began the maze. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "This is good!" He savored the taste, the flavors of the wine and cheese combining with his now rather uncomfortable hunger. "Don't tell me you're sparing some of your more expensive supplies for a lowly prisoner?" Leonardo teased, and Cesare looked up with a coy half-smile.

"I prefer to call you a 'hostage' actually," Cesare said. "I would never put a mere prisoner in one of my finest guest rooms." His attention turned again to the maze, but he made no mark on the paper. "I plan to hold you for ransom." And his voice was hard to read-he gave no indication whether or not he was joking. "_Someone_ has to be willing to pay a high price for your return, Ezio Auditore or not, though I am going to assume that man will be the one sticking his neck out to have you back."

Leonardo offered a small shrug in return, his smile matching Cesare's to a degree. His lenience with the words were probably because of the wine. "I suppose it would sound odd if I said that I preferred being called a hostage..." His smile then faltered, but he didn't say out loud what he was thinking. He'd only just gotten Cesare to loosen up and be at ease around him. He wasn't then going to throw that away, simply to agitate Cesare again. Leonardo got to his feet, yawning slightly as he went to fetch another candle from the bedside table. If they were going to be comparing puzzles into the early hours, they'd need more light. 

Even if there had been talk of the Eagle of Italy, Cesare didn't seem remotely irritable. Slowly, the quill began to scratch a line from the exit to the entrance. Cesare ran into a dead end, and his brows furrowed in the middle of his forehead. Fatigue and wine, along with good Italian cheese, proved to be a game-set-match for Cesare Borgia. It was difficult to concentrate. The low candle light didn't help matters. Again, he ran into a dead end, and a curse left his lips as the muscles in his neck and shoulders tightened.

"I believe you have given me a difficult one," Cesare admitted lowly as his fingers scratched the quill through the rest of the maze. He only ran into another dead end once more, but otherwise made it out of the contraption unscathed. "Interesting." He glanced at Leonardo. "I shall build this maze, make it a reality. Perhaps I will put Ezio through it when he comes for you."

Leonardo turned briefly, smiling. "Of course I did. I wouldn't want you to think I was patronizing you, _Signore_." Placing the third candle on the desk opposite Cesare, he went to sit down when he suddenly saw how the other was sitting. Frowning, Leonardo veered his course and placed, timidly, his hands on Cesare's shoulders. "Your posture is terrible..." he murmured, mostly to himself. He was an expert at anatomy, and seeing muscles bent in ways unhealthy, Leonardo's studious instincts took precedence over his logic. Gradually, he increased the pressure through his fingers, gently easing Cesare back in the seat as if urging the Templar to relax.

"My posture is not b-" started Cesare, but his breath caught in his throat the moment the fingers touched him through his shirt. At first, Leonardo's touch did the exact opposite of what it was intended to do; he immediately tensed himself in uncertainty, back becoming rigid. His hand snapped up to grab the artist by the wrist. Slowly, he turned wary, dark eyes over his shoulder. "Trying to kill me?" he asked, voice low in warning.


	5. Taming the Beast

**A/N: Haha, I know you guys hate me so much for leaving this hanging for an eternity! I loathe authors' notes ruining the top of a page, but I just wanted to apologize profusely for the update taking forever, and I also wanted to thank everyone who left wonderful reviews, or urged me to continue. Surprisingly, this was one of the stories I disliked the most (in terms of my writing/editing), yet it wasone of the stories which got the most enthusiasm.**

Immediately, Leonardo uncurled his fingers in surrender, hunched his shoulders sheepishly. "N-no!" he said quickly, swallowing afterward from the fire in Cesare's gaze. "No," he said again, "nothing like that. I am not a man of violence."

Cesare skeptically regarded the blonde behind him, and then he slowly brought his hand back to his lap. For a strange reason, he was willing to trust this man, this artist. He didn't know exactly why, but he doubted Leonardo would put himself in jeopardy with a stupid move, especially one that could have that slender throat broken in seconds. In all honesty, Leonardo's disposition didn't seem to be one willing to fall into confrontation.

On the other hand, Leonardo hadn't meant to startle Cesare, though, in hindsight, he could clearly see how something this forward would have anyway. It was surprising to be suddenly considered a suspect when, all this time, Cesare was the one throwing the threatening weight around.

Quietly, both men let out an exhale of relieved breath, and Cesare willed himself to relax back into the chair, enough so that his posture was correct. Leonardo managed a weak smile at the back of the dark head, and then he continued with his hands as he had been before. Cesare's muscles didn't give in just yet, but they lowered, and his head lulled forward a little.

"Mn…." Cesare murmured, brows together, his muscles easing themselves into submission.

For the next half hour or so, gentle silence consumed them, and the soft flicker of candle light was the only thing rippling the relaxation. At certain points, Leonardo increased or decreased the pressure he applied, gradually working out the tension in the other man's shoulders, and Cesare groaned appreciatively.

A while passed, and Leonardo slowly eased to a halt, his hands aching, but his goal achieved. "_Signore_," Leonardo whispered, amused by Cesare's slip toward unconsciousness because of a massage, "if you're really that tired perhaps you should—" Calmly, Leonardo pulled Cesare's left arm over a shoulder, pushing his own arm around Cesare's lower back. He hefted the Captain General to a stand. "I certainly didn't see my evening turning out this way," Leonardo murmured to himself under his breath.

Resistance made a quick, but short appearance in Cesare. He wanted to command Leonardo to stop, to tell the man to get away from him if solely because he looked so vulnerable when he was this tired and relaxed. The massage calmed him so much that sleep, along with glorious amounts of wine, was the next adventure of his morning. The shift upward startled him slightly awake, but he luckily remained heavily sedated and drowsy. A mumble left him, and Cesare barely knew that he was being lifted or carried elsewhere.

The bed.

Leonardo continued to lead him along, and Cesare's mind screamed sluggishly in alarm. He should be bedding himself elsewhere, not in the artist's quarters. For a moment, Cesare stopped and went stiff, but then relented and relaxed once more. Fatigue won the favor of his selfishness. He was too tired to bother walking that far across the _castello._

At the bed, Cesare turned into the child that he was. Straightening himself up, he lurched forward and fell face-down onto the mattress, promptly just lying there. He didn't move, arms down beside him, dark hair washed over his face, and booted feet barely hanging over the edge. He didn't _want_ to move. He just wanted to sleep, something that never came easily to the leader of the Papal Army.

Finally, Cesare turned his head to the side. "Don't stop," he muttered after a moment, sounding quite different from the Cesare who was typically barking orders and taunting everyone in his way. When Leonardo didn't move, he twisted to look back. His eyes flashed with a pathetic attempt at severity. "Massage me," he commanded in a husky, sleepy tone. "I said not to stop."

The thought of where he was going to sleep did cross Leonardo's mind momentarily, but when he saw how Cesare just seemed to fall onto the bed and not move soon after, arguing for a spot was the last thing on Leonardo's agenda. He knew he had slept in far worse places than the floor of a lavish guest room.

Since the air was still heavy with humid midnight air, Leonardo didn't bother to cover Cesare with a blanket, but instead peeled it away from the bed to use for himself. He moved to blow out the candles, and the room was pitched quickly into blackness. He hadn't heard Cesare the first time, and, even though he could well have been talking in his sleep, Leonardo still went to listen further. He placed the last candle on the table next to the bed, and rubbed a hand over tired eyes.

And then the request hit him. Leonardo, apprehensive and uncertain at first, peered down at the icy eyes looking back. What did he do? he wondered. Did he keep going? After a few moments of hesitation, Leonardo sighed to himself. He didn't see what harm it would do, not with being a hostage under the close reign of someone like Cesare. Besides, it would prove to be a fast way to get the man from being conscious. "All right," Leonardo said softly.

Leonardo sat on the bed and lightly put his hand on Cesare's shoulder, urging the man to turn back around and relax. Shifting enough to be more comfortable, Leonardo leaned down and started working on Cesare's shoulders again, thumbs kneading with more pressure at certain points. As the time passed, he slowly worked his way down Cesare back, random thoughts and ideas mulling through his head. Inventions and gears, the current situation, whether or not his dearest friend, Ezio Auditore, would know of his capture, if the Assassin would even bother trying to help.

Leonardo knew in the morning things would return to them butting heads and locking horns. Threats would be dished out left, right, and center, but, for now, for whatever reason, he was happy to do as he was told. As his hands continued to work, Leonardo was sure to take note of how peaceful and calm Cesare had become. Of course, it was only because of the combination of sleeplessness and alcohol, but he thought that seeing Cesare like this would make for an interesting memory, maybe one he could even draw in secret. If he ever got out of here in one piece, he was sure Ezio would never believe him.

"Tomorrow," Cesare whispered suddenly, on the edge of sleep, "you... will have... lunch with... me."

When Leonardo heard what the other had to whisper, he smirked to himself. When he replied, though he was sure that Cesare had already fallen asleep, he made sure to keep his voice soft and quiet: "Giving orders even in this state?"

Honestly, Cesare was even better when he slept; he was ten times better than when he was being Nice Cesare and not Conquering-The-Country Cesare. The Captain General, just on the edge of middle thirties, looked a lot younger, but, more importantly, a lot more human, a lot more relaxed and perhaps even happy. It was how he was _supposed_ to look if his father hadn't tried to wield him as the merciless, evil scepter of the Church, if his father hadn't ignited the flame in him for the military through jealously.

Once he felt Cesare's breathing become deep and slow, Leonardo brought his hands away from the sleeping man and leaned across to blow out the candle. For the first time in hours, the room was cloaked in a heavy, warm darkness. He soon found the blanket that he'd laid previously across the floor and made himself as comfortable as possible.

Cesare didn't know if the artist had ever fallen asleep because he was asleep first, peacefully for once in his life. His dreams were naught, only blackness and the gentle, rocking uncertainty of unconscious. There were no dreams of Apples, none of wars, none of blood and battles, none of two-faced men smiling at him with closed lips to hide their fangs.

Unfortunately, Leonardo dreamed. Sleep had followed in a matter of minutes, but unlike Cesare, Leonardo's mind refused restful tranquility. He dreamed of his flying machine working and of much larger, more economically shaped pistols. At one point, Leonardo found himself standing in the middle of a field wearing what seemed to be Assassin robes, pearly white swathed with scarlet. Walls instantly sprung up from the ground around him, climbing to impossible heights, and as he started walking, he soon realized what surrounded him was a maze. In dreams, of course, time had no way of existing, but after he had been walking a while, he caught sight of a flash of color, and he froze when he spotted Ezio up ahead.

_Ezio! _he heard his voice call into the void._ Ezio, I'm so glad you're here! I—_ Leonardo was suddenly cut off by Ezio extending a hand as if to stop him. The Assassin said nothing, but merely pointed back. When Leonardo looked down at himself once again, instead of his usual garb, he was dressed in the Borgia colors—red and gold. He frowned and then noticed something on his hands. Turning them over, he watched in horror as lines of black ink began tracing identical symbols into his palms: the Borgia crest.

When Cesare awoke, he was still face-down on the bed like the night before, but covered, this time, in daylight. After lying there for some time, he finally pushed himself up onto a forearm, his free hand bushing back through his hair to remove it from his eyes. Where...? His face tensed.

The room he put Leonardo in.

He swallowed through the feeling of cotton in his mouth. Hastily, he rolled himself up to a sit at the edge of the bed. On the floor, his eyes immediately caught Leonardo's form, and he didn't know whether he wanted to feel sorry of glad about the discovery. Quietly, Cesare stepped down and went for the door, but half way there thought better of it and returned to the sleeping form. He knelt and gathered the artist up, as rocky as it was, and then he put the man back down on the bed. "Lunch," he said firmly by the artist's ear. "You will be there."


End file.
